


Wild & Fluorescent

by anotherwinchesterfangirl



Series: Song Prompt Fics [17]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 16:03:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12062364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherwinchesterfangirl/pseuds/anotherwinchesterfangirl
Summary: A summer spent falling in love with Sam Winchester is a summer well spent.For the song prompt "Supercut" by Lorde.





	Wild & Fluorescent

It’s been years, and you’re still shocked sometimes at the way something so small—the musty smell of aging hardbacks or a whiff of blooming lilacs—will remind you of him, will bring you right back into that summer like it was yesterday. The summer you spent with Sam Winchester.

The warm summer air rushing through the open windows as Sam drove fast down Indiana backroads in your father’s pick-up truck. The halo of sunlight behind his head when you looked across the front seat at him, his dimples deep in his cheeks. The sound of his laugh filling the cab when you sang along to the radio at the top of your lungs. The way his long fingers wrapped loose around the steering wheel, his other hand on your thigh.

The Winchesters blew into town in a huge black boat of a car two days after school let out for the summer. It was a small town—no one could come or go without people talking—so the first time you saw a long haired boy walk into the library wearing jeans worn through at the knee, a little too short for his extra long legs, you knew he was the new kid. He came up to the circulation desk, where you were working for the summer, all dimples and perfect teeth, and you were blushing up to the roots of your hair by the time he finished describing, in hushed tones, what he was looking for—something about a local legend and a rash of murders in 1952.

You directed him toward the news and media section and then, since you didn’t have anything else to do, helped him sort through stacks of old articles until your shift was over and your fingers were black with newsprint. Three days later, after you found the exact newspaper article he’d been searching for, he kissed you soft and gentle up against the card catalog, his hands on your hips and his body pressed to yours. You were pretty inseparable after that.

That was the summer you learned how to shoot a pistol and how to french kiss. The summer you spent more time making out in the library stacks and baking in the sun on the river bank than you did at home. The summer you first fell in love.

Even after he was done searching through local newspapers, Sam still showed up at the library every morning. He spent most of his time among the dusty tomes of the mythology and lore section, but sometimes he’d pick up a contemporary crime novel and read under the skylight while he waited for you. On particularly slow days, he’d help you reshelve books and listen to you whine about your boss. When your shift was over you’d drive to the outskirts of town, stopping for sandwiches at the local market, and you’d eat in the shade under the lilac bush on the river bank, talking about everything from local gossip to where you wanted to go to college. On especially hot days, you’d strip to your underwear and jump in the water to cool off and then make out on the grass until the sun was low in the sky and you had to get the truck home before your dad found out you let a boy drive it.

And when he left—a hurried and tearful goodbye kiss behind your house and then he was gone—you cried for days. At the time, it felt like your whole world was ending.

It took you a long time to get over Sam Winchester, but now you can think back to that summer fondly—your first love and your first heartbreak—and you remember it often. Just the feel of the summer sun beating through the skylight in the center of the library is enough to take you back.

So that afternoon, when you look up from cataloging contemporary crime novels, and you see him standing there you have to blink a few times before you realize he’s really there, not just a figment of your imagination. You’re shocked at how he looks different and yet exactly the same—ridiculous tall, hair curling behind his ears, dimples as deep as ever as he smiles across the room at you, his eyes alight with recognition.

“Sam?”


End file.
